


To Get His Girl

by Syven_Siren



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gun Violence, Mentions of Death, Michael Langdon x Reader - Freeform, Michael Langdon x You - Freeform, One Shot, Possessive Behavior, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Threats of Violence, Violence, imagine, possessive!michael, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-12-26 14:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syven_Siren/pseuds/Syven_Siren
Summary: Michael will stop at nothing to get what is his.Warnings: Mentions of violence, gun violence, and death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It took me forever to finish this. I also might continue this (if people like it) with what happens once he takes the reader. Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading!

The sounds of bullets ricocheting throughout the house startle you. Shattering glass is accompanied by the panicked shrill screams of the girls downstairs. Their pain and fear are obvious. Bolting up from your chair, you rush towards the ajar door questioning whether you should go see what is happening or stay within the safety of your room. With bated breath, you peek out only catching small slivers of the empty hallway. Whoever is down there is not allowing for any chance of escape. Each set of hurried footsteps is immediately followed by a shot going off. Taking in a ragged breath, you shakily reach to open the door just as another round of gunfire erupts making you stumble backward.  
.  
.  
.  
_Thud._ Another girl falls victim to the attacker.   
.  
.  
.  
_Silence._

That’s all you hear now besides the drum of your racing heart. It’s eerie but you know you can’t stay in the bedroom anymore. With hesitant steps, you walk past the empty rooms of the girls that were attending class downstairs. Reaching the staircase, your courage wavers but you reassure yourself that your powers are more than enough to defend yourself with.

Your descent on the stairs is halted by the confrontation in front of you. Cordelia stands rigid several steps below you. Her knuckles are white from how hard she grips the railing. Anger is rolling off her in waves. She’s more than ready to attack the intruder in defense of the coven. 

At the bottom of the staircase, Michael stands there smirking up at her. Cordelia and the coven have been a constant nuisance to him. With his arrogance on full display, it seems like he is more than confident that this plan will end any hopes that the witches have of beating him.

“You thought this was over?” He chuckles finding it funny she even considered the war over. 

“You won’t get away with this,” Cordelia promises fiercely glaring down at him. Disinterested, he waves off her threat. 

“You can have those of your coven that have managed to survive. I’m not here to obliterate you just yet. I want to savor it when I do,” his eyes narrow and his smirk widens at the distressed look that crosses Cordelia’s face, “I want to see the fear and realization in your eyes when I wipe you all out. Unfortunately, I didn’t come here for that today.”

The pleasure he takes in sharing that information with her sends shivers down your spine.

“Then what do you want? Why are you here?” Cordelia throws rapid-fire questions at him. She desperately wants to check on the rest of the coven but knows she must be cautious in this situation. His power is too great, especially in her weakened state.

His intense gaze shifts off of her and onto you.

“I’m here to get my girl.”  


	2. Chapter 2

It’s as if time is standing still. You and Cordelia attempt to process what Michael just said. _Had he really just declared that he was there for you? Was he serious? What are the reasons behind his actions? What purpose did he have for you?_

You had met Michael at the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men when you traveled with Cordelia, Zoe, and Myrtle to the emergency council meeting. The interactions you both had were limited due to the circumstances. You hadn’t thought much of those events at the time. They were fleeting instances that should have been forgotten but for some unknown reason, you’d found your mind replaying them over and over again when you returned home. The moments of quick glances between the two of you. Passing each other in one of the winding hallways of Hawthorne. A slight brush between your shoulders or hands that made your face heat up. Silly little moments that made you question and scold yourself for how pathetic you were being; letting a pretty boy distract you from the importance of the mission. 

Your initial introduction to Michael is what struck you the most. When Ariel brought Michael in to meet the council, it was undeniable that he was attractive. The soft golden hair that outlined his well-sculpted face. His steel blue eyes seemed to penetrate anyone he set his sights upon. It was like he could see someone’s soul if he stared long enough; maybe he could, you honestly couldn’t be too sure. The boy was extremely powerful. His child-like smile helped to carefully hide his shifty movements and the way he scanned each of you; trying to size up each of you and figure out your strengths and weaknesses. 

You were put off by the shift in the air when he arrived and astonished by the power and poise he held. He was intimidating even when he wasn’t trying to be. It caused chills throughout your body. There was something off about him; something that was somewhat familiar but at the same time thrilling and new. You wanted to explore this strange sense of familiarity further but you had to keep your distance.  He would be the boy challenging for supremacy. He wasn’t a potential friend or ally. He was the enemy. 

And now months later, he stands in front of you again. It’s like you’re meeting him for the first time. That intense unknown feeling is back. His cat-like eyes are still locked with yours and the smirk that plays on his face sends tingles of fear and excitement straight to your core. There must be something wrong with you. There is no way you should be attracted to this man that potentially slaughtered all of the coven and still has plans to kill off Cordelia, but you are.

Oh, how you should have just stayed in your room. 

Cordelia, who seems to have overcome the unexpected development, begins laughing maniacally. Breaking from Michael’s hypnotic stare, you are bewildered at how Cordelia can be laughing at a time like this. She surely must have lost her mind if she finds anything about this situation funny. Judging by the look on his face, Michael is not amused at all. 

“You’re here for her? You think I’m just going hand over one of **my** girls to you?!” She barks out in-between her fits of laughter.

Whatever you felt moments ago quickly turns to dread when Michael’s face contorts into an angry scowl. It’s a look of madness and pure rage. His angelic features do not lessen the intensity of his expression. If anything, they make his display all the more frightening. Who would expect such an innocent face to hold so much evil? You can certainly feel the evil. It follows him wherever he goes. The darkness and raw power are so strong to the point that they are almost suffocating. 

“ **She isn’t yours**!” He roars over her laughter causing you to flinch. He says it as if it’s true. It’s with the same authoritarian tone as when he said that he was here to get his girl. _When had you become his girl? And why did he say it with such conviction? Like it was the absolute truth._

With no sign of her crazed giggles slowing, his temper flares again. His fists clench and you can see that he is about to do. If Cordelia isn’t careful, he might not wait to put his plan into motion. He could kill her now and it wouldn’t take that much effort. He extended a figurative olive branch when he said he wouldn’t kill any more witches now. _Why is she testing his patience?_

As if answering your silent prayer for a distraction, a groan comes from the hallway behind Michael. One of your sister-witches drags her body away from the dining room where most of the carnage is located. Her labored breathing is the telltale sign that she is knocking on death’s door. The sound of heavy footsteps follow behind her struggling mass before Ms. Mead comes into view. The clicking of a gun and the pleading of the girl is all it takes for Cordelia to be silenced. Before Mead can finish your sister off, Michael stops her with a wave of his hand.   

“Now that I have your full attention again. I’ll tell you one last time: I’m here for her. I’m not asking. There’s no other option. I’m telling you that she is coming with me.” 

Oh, how the tables have turned. Cordelia is now the one visibly enraged. With rigid steps, she descends on the staircase at a slow methodical pace. Her tense posture is similar to that of a cobra readying to strike. It would mean her downfall but if it meant that another girl would not die then you know, without a doubt, she would be willing to take the chance. You can’t let that happen. If there are any other survivors, they will need help and reassurance. The only person that can do that effectively is the waning Supreme in front of you. 

“I’ll kill you now…”

Michael clicks his tongue at her rebuttal before shaking his head. “Do you really want to do that Cordelia? Think about it. I’m giving you a chance at a few more fleeting days of survival. While I won’t be so hasty as to kill you now, I don’t mind hurting you if I need to. Maybe I’ll do it anyway.” 

Cordelia begins to raise her hand in attack but you quickly stop her, “Cordelia! No! It’s alright. I’ll go with him.” It’s meant to come out confidently but you find your voice quivering. Descending down the few steps that separate the two of you, you come to a halt next to her. Turning, she places her hands on your shoulders giving them a firm squeeze. You’re not sure if the gesture is meant to steady you or her but either way you don’t think it’s providing much comfort. 

“I can’t let you leave with him.” Her words come out broken as she holds back tears. 

“You have to Cordelia. I’ll be okay. The girls need you now.” Smiling at her softy, you remove her hands from your shoulders. If she notices your trembling hands, she doesn’t acknowledge them and just nods her head instead. Letting out a shaky breath, you continue to the bottom of the staircase. Michael waits with an open hand ready to guide you out. You take one last look at Cordelia before tentatively grasping his hand which he uses to pull you to his side.

You feel like a lamb being lead to slaughter. Unknowingly going along with what will inevitably be the end of you. 

The smells of sulfur and rusty iron permeate the air making you want to gag. As you walk towards the front door, Michael’s arm encircles your shoulders and he directs you face into his chest obstructing your vision. The position makes you feel considerably small. You never expected to be this close to him. 

“Don’t look. Just keep moving.” He whispers to you as you both near the dining room. He’s trying to protect you from the gruesome sight. You question his motives in doing this. _Why would he care?_

Not heeding his words, you take a quick peek at the room. Blood is scatter everywhere; on the walls and even the ceiling. Bodies are strewn about and piled on top of one another. They were gunned down in surprise and then again when they tried to escape. Whimpering, you close your eyes tightly and tuck your head further into his chest. You should have listened to him.

 

The travel back to wherever Michael is taking you is exhausting. All the adrenaline you felt when he entered the house is now depleted. You just want to close your eyes but you’re on edge. You can’t be sure of what Mead and Michael will do to you if you take a quick rest. 

As if reading your mind, Michael breaks the silence of car ride, “You must be tired (Y/N). You can close your eyes. No harm will come to you.”

 _No harm will come to you._ You scoff, mentally repeating his words in a childish tone. _Did he not consider killing most, if not all, of your coven harmful? Jack-ass._ You curse at him in your mind. Titling yourself further away from him, you lean your forehead against the cool glass of the car window. In doing so, you don’t catch Michael’s lips arching into a subtle smirk. 

The thought crosses your mind numerous times on the journey that you could attempt to use your powers to escape; try to return home. The powers you possess are nowhere as powerful as Michael’s and you’ve only had control of them for a short amount of time. Even if you could hold him at bay for a few minutes, you are certain Mead would gladly kill you. You resign yourself to staring at the blurry shapes that the car passes. The rattling of your head against the glass distracts you from your current state. 

It’s not much longer before you arrive at your unknown destination; an unassuming house. It’s small and quaint from the outside. Michael once again offers you his hand but this time you brush past him. Stretching your aching muscles, you feel your joints creak and crack in protest of the ride spent sitting in the same position for far too long. Michael unlocks the front door and you’re slow to follow him; unsure of what awaits inside. You didn’t need to use your powers to know that the atmosphere which surrounds this place is shrouded in an oppressive malevolence. Upon entering, you find that the house is unsettlingly normal. Small trinkets set on the shelves in the foyer. Shoes line the floor of the entry and coats are hung up neatly on the hooks. You were expecting bloody carcasses, dark furniture, and black walls. Instead, it’s an inviting space. 

“Welcome to our home (Y/N),” Mead says smiling widely. 

“Um...Thank you.” You nod not wanting to upset her and feel Michael’s wrath. The two seem oddly connected more so than if she was just his lackey. 

“I think that was a successful outing, wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Mead?” Michael remarks jovially, taking off his coat.

“Yes. All thanks to his guidance! Hail Satan.” 

_Fuck. What the hell did you get yourself into?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if it seems like the story progression is somewhat slow. I really wanted to show the reader’s interactions with Miriam and Michael; focusing in on the reader’s reluctant acceptance of those relationships growing and the uncertainty of her own thoughts/feelings toward what is right and wrong. I’m also trying to decide which direction I want to take the plot because I have several ideas. Also, I’ve been doing a bit of research to add in some symbolism (if you know anything about flowers or research it, you’ll see what I mean)

Rocking on your heels, you aren’t sure what to do next. Michael and Mead are going on like everything is normal but this is definitely not normal for you. Feeling your hesitation, Mead suggests that Michael show you around. After a quick tour of the house, he finally leads you upstairs. Pointing out that his room is just down the hall, Michael allows you into your room to relax; stating he’d get you when dinner is ready. 

Eating dinner with Michael and Mead is not how you expected to end the day. Let’s be honest: this day hasn’t gone how you expected at all. From the coven being gunned down to you being kidnapped, this was a shit show of a day. 

You push the food around on your plate as the two discuss topics of no importance to you. Your eyes focus in on the small knife that is beside your plate. It could be of use if you’re able to hide it away without them knowing. Too absorbed in their conversation, they don’t take notice of you watching them intently; waiting for the perfect moment. Sliding the small steak knife in between the layer of your cloth napkin, you slip it into your lap. 

The night came quickly and each of you retires for the evening. You're feeling less like a prisoner after being granted access to the entire house. Although, you were given a stern warning by Mead that if you tried to leave she wouldn’t hesitate to kill you only for Michael to bring you back to life. You heed her warning not wanting to go through the experience of the personalized hell you’ve heard so much about. Instead of escaping brazenly, you decide to ward your door with magic; wanting to secure it in case either of them try anything while you sleep. As you prepare for bed, your thoughts are brought back to the knife that now lays on the bed. Knowing you can use it to your advantage, you decide to make the most out of the opportunity. Pressing your ear against the door, you listen for any movement; there is none. The house is quiet signaling that everyone has gone to bed. 

You try to walk stealthily through the hallway, wincing each time the floorboards squeak in protest. Seeing his door come into view, you steel yourself for what will happen next. Thankfully, the door is not as sensitive as the floorboards; no creaking. Opening the door, you take in the outline of Michael’s body and the steady rise and fall of his bare chest. 

Holding your breath, you make your way to the bedside hoping he doesn't wake up. Groaning, he shifts amongst the sheets and then settles comfortably. Releasing a breath, you thank the spirits for him not waking up. Tightening your grip on the knife, you lunge forward. You end up straddling him with the knife held against his neck. If he wasn't awake before, he is now. With pupils blown wide, you press your free hand against his chest to keep him in place; ensuring that he won’t move. Finally realizing what is going on, the confusion leaves his face and his once tense body relaxes. It's eerily quiet, only the soft ticking of the vintage alarm clock in the background.

“Do it,” he says, showing no concern for you being there to kill him. He knows you can’t go through with it. You wish you could but something is stopping you from committing the act. The knife digs into his skin but you can’t force yourself to do anymore. You lock eyes with him. His expression challenging you; daring you to kill him. Part of you is excited at the thought and the other fearful of something; you’re not sure if it’s fear of him or fear of how exhilarating it is to know for a moment you held someone else’s life in your hands. 

Using your hesitation to his advantage, he takes hold of your wrists for leverage and uses them to flip you on your back. Huffing as your head lands on the soft pillows, your hair splays out around your head like a halo. Your eyes dart from his hands to his face; terror taking over you. The small incision that the knife produced begins to dribble blood, coating his neck like a curtain of crimson. A few droplets fall onto your skin; the spots slightly burning when they make contact. Your chest heaves, slightly brushing against his as he leans down closer to you. You’ve gone from predator to prey in a matter of minutes. 

The proximity of his face to yours is too much for your liking. Turning your head to evade whatever he has planned, you feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

“You’re really trying to tempt me aren’t you, (Y/N)?” He questions you. Shivering as his breath fans over your face and neck, you’re not sure how to respond. _No, you aren't tempting him. Tempting him to do what?_ You don’t want to think about that. You should have known better than to think that this plan would ever work. It seems illogical now. _How did you ever think this was going to work in your favor?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me go.” Pulling at your wrists only causes him to tighten his grip to a bruising pressure. Letting out a pained whimper seems to snap him back from whatever has him transfixed and he releases your wrist slightly. It’s just enough for you to pull them away from him. Pushing him off of you, Michael lands on the unoccupied side of the bed and you dart out the room back towards your own. 

That had not gone as planned. Shaking from the experience, you climb into the bed; wishing it had been your bed at home with the coven. The pillow catches your tears, the cotton fibers absorbing them. Trying to distract yourself, you wonder what is going on at home, how many of your sisters were lost, and how many survived the slaughter. Your fears and anxiety are catching up with you. You feel like what little control you had over your life is now dwindling. Your powers pulse unnaturally and your emotions ravage your body and mind. Being away from the coven is beginning to take a toll on you. 

The next few days are uneventful. Michael doesn’t bring up that you had attempted to murder him and you try to steer clear of him; opting to help Ms. Mead with simple tasks around the house. Your thought is that you should make yourself useful before one or both of them decide they no longer need an extra person in the house. It also gives you time to pry into what Michael’s motives are in taking you, though you still haven’t made any headway. 

“Ms. Mead, do you need help out here?” Your voice drips with semi-fake sweetness. Over the week you’ve been staying with them, you’ve caught yourself calling her ‘Ms. Mead’ instead of by just her last name. It’s an unwelcome and involuntary progression of your relationship with the woman. No matter how many times you say it and how many times you berate yourself for it, you continue to call her ‘Ms. Mead’. It makes you feel as though you are betraying Cordelia and you sister-witches somehow. It might be insignificant to anyone else but to you, it’s shocking that you are gaining a relationship with her; other than kidnapper and hostage. 

“Sure, (Y/N). Could you bring me the watering can?” 

Doing as she requests, you bring the watering jug to her as she clips the datura bushes. Only a few remain vibrant and full of buds that wait until dusk to open. The others are rotted with barren branches and dried florets hanging low. In contrast, the other plants spread throughout the garden thrive. Purple irises and lavender wildflowers grow in abundance; shaded by the angel's trumpet tree. You almost laugh at the irony held within this garden; the devil’s flower won't grow. 

“No matter how much I tend to these, they're the only thing that never grows,” she informs you after witnessing you staring at the pitiful garden.

After a short consideration, you knell beside her and start working your fingers through the dirt until you feel the stem of the plant. Eyes closed, you even out your breathing. Focusing on plant and allowing your magic to take over the garden. You can feel it flowing from you to the plant. It’s a tingling sensation that moves down your arms to the tips of your fingers. Slowly, the datura bushes turn green with leaves and buds grow within seconds as if they had always been there. They take on a deep purple color which seems almost black in the morning light. Created by your magic, the garden is now a bold and aromatic display.  

Watching her light up at the new buds growing, you can’t stop from a smile from forming on your own face. You rub your hands together ridding yourself of the pleasant prickling sensation and dirt. 

“They’re gorgeous! Better than anything I could ever attempt with regular gardening.” She laughs out and you chuckle with her. Feeling eyes on you, you look up and are greeted by the sight of Michael watching you and Ms. Mead from the back porch. 

“Michael, you’re up. I’ll go start breakfast,” She announces as she ambles back towards the house; disappearing from sight once she enters the backdoor. You wish she hadn’t left. It’s just you and Michael now. An awkward quietness is shared between you.

“That was very nice of you to do. She ~~was~~ is always trying to get them to grow.” _Was? That’s right. That isn’t his real Ms. Mead. Just a replica. Her true soul hidden away from him by Cordelia._

“Yeah, well I am a nice person after all. Not all of use our power for evil,” you respond pointedly, looking everywhere but at him. 

Towering over you, Michael uses his index finger to direct your chin up; pulling your gaze to him. 

“Sometimes..,” he pauses, stroking your jaw, “sometimes doing the wrong thing is the right thing to do.” 

The statement catches you off guard and he walks off leaving you to your thoughts. You weren’t expecting such a philosophical impact from any discussion you have with Michael but his remark causes a cognitive dissonance within you. Unsure of what to make of it, you allow yourself to push the thought to the back of your mind, moving to join the two in the house. It’s a mental debate you can save for later. 

Entering the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon wafts through the air making your stomach grumble from hungry. Ms. Mead is plating pancakes at the stove while Michael gathers silverware; he’s agitated at the conversation going on between them. Passing the small black altar, you cringe and select the dining chair farthest from it. 

“It's time to burn the sucker down, and you don't need magic for that. And besides, when you end the world, you end the witches. Come on. Michael, think bigger,” Ms. Mead enthusiastically encourages him.

“I have actually been thinking about some other possible avenues,” he starts, uncertainty is laced throughout his voice.

“See, that's great. Like what?”

“Maybe I could run for president.”

“Okay. Yeah, that could be problematic for a lot of reasons.”

Puzzled by his outrageous idea and the very fact that this is the conversation they are having over breakfast, you press your hand to your mouth trying to hold in your laughter. _How can this man who just planned the killing of your coven suddenly be acting like an incompetent child? Confident son of Satan one minute and uncertain child the next; such a weird dichotomy._ Unable to hold it in, you suck in a breath before laughing aloud. Both he and Ms. Mead look in your direction, surprised by your outburst. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry...but you barely look legal. Who are you going to convince looking like that?” You say wiping the tears from your eyes. Ms. Mead raises her hand gesturing towards you as if to say “see, I told you.”

“Sure, but I could start out as an ambassador and then I'd become one of the president's most trusted advisors.” 

He just has more and more outrageous ideas. You really are starting to wonder if this is the same Michael from the prophecy; surely the devil wouldn’t leave his son confused and lost. You thought he would already have this all designed; he seemed so brazen when he was confronting Cordelia. 

“Michael, this sounds like the plot of The Omen III. Is this where you're getting your ideas?” You almost choke on your pancake when she skeptically questions him. You hadn’t thought about where these schemes of his are coming from but now it makes sense. 

“Well, I don't know where else to look. It's not like there's a bunch of reference material on how to be the Antichrist.” He responds, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Okay. We could go to the guys who brought me back to you. Maybe they have the answers.” 

After more back-and-forth, they finally decided it would be best to see the researchers that brought Ms. Mead back to him. It’s unimaginable that he was even able to get as far as he has in life. You realize that when Ms. Mead was actually alive, she must have been his only true mother-figure; someone who guided and took care of him. You're surprised by how sympathetic you feel towards him. After helping with the dishes, you wander through the house looking for Michael. It’s the first time you’ve actually sought him out since being brought here. Something is compelling you to find him. And, you do. 

Sitting on the porch swing, Michael’s eyes are trained on something in the yard and his finger absentmindedly strokes the small scar that your unsuccessful attack left on his neck. He could have healed completely but he explained to you that he liked that it was you who gave it to him; he had said he would wear it like any other gift he was given. You thought he was out of his mind when he explained that to you. Though now, part of you is proud you were able to leave your mark on his flawless skin. 

“Can I sit?” Startled at your sudden appearance, he says nothing just nods. 

“I guess being the Antichrist is hard, huh?” You say more as a statement than a question. 

“Everyone has an opinion on how things should be done or expects me to have it planned out. But, I don’t. I don’t have a manual. I don’t have a strategy. I don’t even have my real Ms. Mead. I have nothing.” He voice is broken by the end of his rambling and you can't help but feel for him. He’s just a lost child with no true family here. Even with the imitation of Ms. Mead, it’s obviously not the same as the real person. You never thought you’d feel distressed for him. You’re unsure of what to say; torn between wanting to console this lost soul next to you and wanting to gut him for the things he’s done. 

You edge your hand towards him; your fingertips brushing the back of his hand. He relinquishes his grip on the wooden seat allowing you to link your fingers around his. He seems surprised by your action. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re stunned too. After giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you tense coming to the realization of what you are doing; comforting the enemy. Releasing his hand quickly, you excuse yourself and rush back in the house leaving him alone once again. _How can Michael make you feel hatred and sympathy all at once? Perhaps, he’s not the only one that’s lost._


	4. Chapter 4

Attempting to shaking off what occurred on the porch, you decide it’s best to relax and figure out your thoughts before approaching Michael again. This is what led to your current state; staring at your reflection in the steaming water contained within the porcelain tub below. Stepping into the hot water, you hiss at how it stings your skin. Lavender and vanilla scented bubbles encircled your body hiding you from the open air. Resting your head against the edge of the tub, you allow yourself to truly relax for the first time since you’ve been with here. You haven’t heard anything from the coven and you wonder if they are actually looking for you. _Have they forgotten that you’re alone with the person that wants to end the world?_ Just because you went willingly doesn’t mean you want to be left here. The stress and tension of each day have fallen hard on your shoulders. You still want to be far away from this place, back in the safety of the coven house. 

Closing your eyes, your breath in evenly; the moist air that enters your lungs seems to warm your entire body, spreading throughout your chest, down your arms and legs and finally, to the tips of your fingers and toes. The sensation leads your body to feel soothed and at ease. 

In the midst of tranquility, an idea comes to mind; if the coven can’t get to you, you will just have to go to them. Michael had banned you from performing any magic that may help you physically leave in order to communicate with Cordelia and the coven. Being told not do to something has never stopped you before. Once, you had tried using transmutation to go back to the coven but you were blocked by whatever spell Michael had put on the house. The whole ordeal had ended with you and him arguing loudly and Ms. Mead having to separate the two of you. The rest of that night was spent with him glaring at you before sending you to your room as if you were a child. That earned him silent treatment which lasted for nearly two days before you finally gave in and forgave him. 

While Michael had forbidden you from physically leaving the house, his warding spells and magic sensing were not sensitive enough to catch your use of astral projection. It’s a power which is very much your own; something Myrtle and Cordelia told you to take pride in. Few witches and warlocks ever master descensum and even fewer are able to use a variation of it, like astral projection. To move their mind to another physical location is an enormous feat which out of your coven only you and Cordelia can accomplish. Your first few attempts at using it had gone terribly wrong; considering one time you ended up scaring a few witches as they worked on a temperamentally explosive spell with Zoe. You hadn’t meant to cause any chaos but still apologized for the few injuries your surprise appearance had caused.

During your practice with your power, you had come to realize that the calming nature of water helped to ease the process of accurately projecting your mind to the desired location. Zoe had been worried that you’d wind up naked in some unknown location but that was quickly quelled when you appeared behind her in the kitchen fully clothed while your physical body remained in the bathroom. 

Sinking further into the water, you focus the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the tub; similar to waves crashing on the sands and retreating back to the sea. The push and pull take over your mind. You can see where you want to be, in the place that has been your home and safety. It’s so close; so tangible. The air shifts and the atmosphere grows colder. Opening your eyes, you find yourself, or rather your mind, in the living room of the coven house. It’s not as lively as it should be. No noise, voices, or music. The fireplace that usually is burning brightly sits darken and untouched. Walking through the halls, you call out for Cordelia. No answer. Mallory? Nothing. Queenie? Again, no answer. 

The silence is nerve-racking. _Where could they be?_ You can't help but think that perhaps Michael had somehow finished off your coven without you knowing. But, you push the thought away because you can still sense the lingering magic of witches close by. Someone must still be alive. It will just take a while to find them. Time is not something you have to spare. Striding to the staircase, the fibers of your projection begins to tatter. You jitter like static; no longer able to hold it. 

“Damn!” You curse when you feel the water slosh against your body. You need to find them. Need to get back to the coven. Settling again, your conscience wanders through the physical plane. This time, it’s a push rather than natural flow. You just need to find them. In your rush, you don’t take the necessary precautions to ensure you end up in the right place. 

It’s cold again but this time different. The coldness is bone-chilling cause both your projection and physical body to shiver. Heavy darkness surrounds you pulling you deeper and deeper into a space of nothingness. This is wrong. Disturbingly wrong. Out of the bleakness, a harsh whisper calls out to you. _What is it saying? Who is it?_ As quick as it sounded, it is now gone. _Nothing. Nothing. Nothing._

An inky black hand reaches out to grab your forearm; the grip so tight that you struggle to break free. And once you do, more and more entities gather pulling you in different directions. You feel as if you’re being drowned by these things. Fighting against them only causes you to lose more until the voice calls out again; muffled and indistinguishable. 

**“h..err.e. mmh. heee..re.”**

A charred hand grabs at your wrist, turning you to meet the face of an unrecognizable person. A bloodcurdling scream rips from your lungs and your mind jolts itself back into your body out of self-preservation. Pulling yourself up, you re-emerge from the water; sucking in gulps of water as you struggle. Down the hall, Michael’s ears pick up your screams. They terrify him; something that is not easily done. With long powerful strides, Michael rushes to you, throwing the bathroom door open with no trouble. Without a second thought, he reaches for you, pulling your squirming body above the water. 

Sobbing, you claw at his clothes; trying desperately to hold on as if you’ll be pulled back into that dark world. Michael gathers you in his arms, shushing you as you cry uncontrollably. He isn’t concerned about the sloshing water that teeters over the edge of the tub or the dampness that soaks through his clothes. His only concern is you.

“(Y/N). (Y/N). Calm down. It’s okay. I’m here now. You’re safe with me,” he calmly implores but you don’t hear him over your panicked crying. Burying your head in the crook of his neck, you continue to tremble. You’re so disoriented. _What was that place? What were those things? The one was a person, wasn’t it? Who? Who was it? Why were they so desperate?_

Securing one arm around your waist, Michael hooks the other underneath your knees to lift you out of the bath. Once out, he doesn’t let you go; not that you want him to. You’re still too traumatized. Instead, he sits on the tile floor with you in his arms; rocking you gently and whispering words of reassurance that you are safe with him. You don’t know how much time has passed but you begin to feel the cold air lick at your bare skin. The heat that once filled the room is now gone. A knock on the door startles you. Feeling you tense, Michael resumes rubbing your back and arms to settle your nerves. 

“It’s only Ms. Mead. You’re okay.” 

“Michael, do you need anything?” She asks, looking from him to you. Her eyes reflect the same worry Michael’s eyes express.   

“A towel. And, please get one of my t-shirts.” After handing him the clean towel, she rushes off to collect the article of clothing he requested. By the time she returns, Michael has dried what little water still clings to your body and hair. Nodding to her in thanks, he waits for her to leave before telling you to raise your arms. Not wanting to let go of him, you don’t follow his command and tighten your arms around his neck. 

The steady rhythm of his heart and breathing create a melody that soothes you into a sleepy state. Once he hears your breathing even out, he sighs knowing that you are no longer petrified. It also means that he can’t question you about what happened. Ignoring his curiosity, he sides with his desire to ensure you’re comfortable and taken care of.  

“(Y/N), let me put this shirt on you so you don’t get cold. Put your arms up for me.” Too exhausted to refuse again, you lift your arms and Michael slips the shirt over your head. Once dressed, you’re carried through the hallway towards your bedroom. Exiting the confines of the bathroom, you leave behind some of the pensiveness as well; relaxing into Michael even more. 

At the bedroom door, Michael finds himself in a dilemma. With you in his arms, he can’t open the door without either dropping you or setting you down. Conflicted, Michael weighs his options until he hears a soft chuckle. Ms. Mead comes to his recuse, opening the door for him before observing the two of you, beaming with a sense of motherly pride. Like a groom carrying his bride, Michael crosses the threshold of the bedroom door with you in his arms. 

Glancing down your sleepy form, his smile widens. His childlike innocence peeking through. This is the closest you two have ever been since he brought you here. You seeking out comfort in him solidifies that he made the right decision in collecting you from the coven. Ms. Mead pulls the covers of the bed down before nodding to Michael and making her exit; shutting the door behind her. With care, he tucks you into the wine color sheets and pulls the comforter up to your chin. Brushing your hair away from your face, he hesitates before placing a soft kiss on the crown of your head. Intent on leaving, Michael is startled by how hard you grip his hand. He thought you had drifted to sleep. 

“Stay with me,” You plead with him, searching his eyes for something. What it is you’re searching for? You aren’t sure. If you weren’t so scared, you probably would be upset with how desperate you sound especially in front of him. Tugging him onto the bed, you shift to make room for him, lifting the covers so he can climb under them with you. Within a few minutes, you lay facing each other.

“Why did you bring me here?” You break the silence, opening your eyes to observe him. Concern runs across his face. It’s a rare uncertainty that makes him appear so innocent and vulnerable. 

“Don’t you feel it?” He asks with hints of desperation speckled throughout his voice. “We are meant to be together. You’re my girl and I will do anything to make sure you remain by my side.”

Michael offers you his hand. Without hesitation, you place yours in his much larger one. As soon as you touch him, you’re overwhelmed by an intense buzzing like you just stuck a piece of metal into an electrical outlet. Flashes of a woman blur together. Each scene so glaring different yet all too familiar.  

_Dressed in a flowing gown, she wanders the desert alone; behind her a lush alcove of greenery, trees that bear beautiful fruit, and plentiful springs of crystal water. A man watches as she crosses the rugged terrain making no effort to stop her. Why is she walking in the opposite direction? Why is she leaving that paradise behind? The high sun beams harshly on her skin as the sands gust around her. Her walk continues through the night when the moon takes over the sky._

_-_

_The next vision of her comes during a different period. She no longer wanders the desert but a small village of stone houses. Those that linger outside shudder as she passes; scurrying inside their homes. Stopping at each structure, she runs her slender fingers along with the small plaques that hang; each causing her to move along not bothering to seek shelter._

_-_

_A tall shadowy figure reaches out to her; revenant of her presence as if knowing she will disappear from his sight._

_“You are queen. You kneel to no man, beast, or god. I ask to rule at your side. I as you equal. Become what they want you to be. Show them the true power you possess,” His words are laced with sweet temptation and devotion._

_And she accepts. The bond they share intimate and deep. Their bliss is short-lived; interrupted by the parting heavens and booming thunder which carries a message for her: You will wander this earth for all time. Never truly alive but never gaining the full peace of death. Your children shall be plentiful but never know the true embrace of their mother; being hunted and slaughter with each generation for your sins._

_-_

_Wherever she goes her lover’s figure follows, changing shape but always there. In the form of dark aura, a graceful snake, a cunning owl, or the morning star, he dutifully tracks her through time. Gaining on her with each new iteration. Each time another obstacle is placed in their path yet they continue on in an unending chase._

_-_

_You’ve seen her before but you can't place where. Was she in family photos, the tattered images of your grandmother’s albums, perhaps the books of the coven? You can’t be sure. The connection you feel is unreal. Her pain, mourning, love, paranoia, they are all yours._

_The last figment of her that you are gifted with is one from your own childhood. In your grandmother’s garden, a younger version of yourself plays in the dirt and flowers until catching sight of a small creature. Most would be fearful but not you. You were never afraid of the devil’s companion. The black-scaled snake moves closer, coiling around your tiny wrist._

_“He seems to like you.” A silky voice cuts through the air._

_Turning you find a tall woman peering down at you with a serene smile. Thick black curls outline her beautifully sculpted face and light dance on her emerald eyes. To a young girl, she looks like a goddess or angel that is documented among the various pages of your grandmother’s grimoires._

_“I like him too! Snakes are pretty.”_

_She hums at your childlike response, reaching out she takes your tiny hand in hers. The snake slithers from your wrist to hers and she brings it closer to her body._

_“I’ve been searching for him for a while.”_

_You tilt your head in confusion, gazing at the mysterious woman._

_“Well if you want him, I think that would be fine. Grammy won’t let me keep him anyway.”_

_Chuckling at your innocence, the woman agrees before leaning down to kiss your head._

_“Thank you. That’s very kind. But listen when I say this,” and you do, totally absorbed by her words, “When he comes for you again, do not be afraid. He is yours as you are his. Equals made of the same breath.”_

_Before you could ask what she means, your name is called from the house; your grandmother is waving you over. Turning back to the woman, you find that she and the serpent are no longer there._

-

Her words echo in your mind. Perhaps you've been searching too hard, ignoring what has already found you. 

 

**_Maybe Michael has been what you’ve been searching for? Maybe you shouldn’t be fighting against him so hard._  **


End file.
